


The Pirate Prince and the Mermaid

by Xenri



Series: The Prince and the Mermaid [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Homestuck - Freeform, Homestuck AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenri/pseuds/Xenri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We start in the murky waters of the sea, where fire rages above and silence reigns below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Bubbles rose from the dark water as a form drifted deeper and deeper into its depths. Through the salty murk, the smudge of color was a deep purple, tinged a greenish-blue by the water. The only variant of the cool colors were two sharp, orange lines at one end of the form.

As it approached a dead reef, where something hid, watching, the form became clearer. It turned from a mass of dark colors to a body, sinking headfirst, a trail of purple from his neck following behind it. As the watcher looked closer, it was evident that the purple trail was not blood, but some sort of long cloth. A Large coat, several shades darker than the long cloth, as well as a belt full of heavy metals, enveloped the body, dragging it down through the water. If it had not been for these accessories, the body may have been able to float on the surface, attracting the attention of others. Then, it might have been able to have been rescued.

Meanwhile, in one of the small coves of the reef, the watcher thought silently. The body was lucky enough to have sunk near the area. If it hadn’t, it might have drifted all the way to the bottom of the water, lone and long forgotten. In a flash of gold and pink, the watcher dashed out of the cove, toward the body, pumping their tail strongly to make up for their large mass of hair.


	2. Washed Up and Regal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the two princes of our story, one forced into solitude and the other choosing to be so.

The Pirate Prince sat up on the beach, dazed by the sudden light he awoke to. It took him a mere few seconds, however, to notice his stomach churning, and he turned just in time to heave up it's contents. He groaned and forced himself to turn the other way to collapse onto the sand again. Just as he thought he could curb the wave of dizziness that had hit him, he felt a sharp pain in his cheekbone. He bolted upright again, which didn't much help his vertigo spell, and cursed loudly, looking down. A ring, lone and golden, shining in the sand. He picked it up with his free hand, his other still rubbing his sore cheek. Turning it over through his fingers, inspecting it.  
It was a lavish ring, the wide band embroidered with swirling waves and shells. On the back sat a large oval gem, a clear baby blue. Framing it was even more gold, shaped and designed like an extravagant picture frame. On the opposite side was a much smaller, hot pink gem, only half as big as the band it was embedded in. Around it was a single silver tentacle, wrapping it tightly.  
The prince grimaced, his eyes squeezed closed as he rotated his head in every direction, stretching his stiff neck. When he opened his eyes again, he sighed, letting his arms go limp and hit his thighs. He looked out at the empty sea, staring for a long while as slow memories returned to him. Finally, as his head started to ache, he considered some more sleep. He spit to stop the vile taste of salt and vomit from rotting his taste buds. He leaned back on his arm, checking the sand for more misplaced jewelry before resting back down, closing his eyes once more.

********

Meanwhile, on dryer land, another prince sat on his throne. Once again, he was too distracted and indifferent to sit properly, a leg draped over one armrest and the opposing arm propping him up by the elbow on the other. He was grinning stupidly, absentminded and staring at the sparking crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of the throne room.  
Beside him a larger throne stood empty. The one he sat in now had been hastily put together at the discovery of his blood color. Of course, it was magnificent, but it was nothing compared to the empty throne he was forbidden too. He didn't mind however. His little throne was enough for him.  
His clothes shared the same fate. A golden, jewel encrusted crown had always been prepared, but none of the other inhabitants of the palace has been brave enough to correct the nobles by telling them what they had neglected. Even his large room had previously been one of the other nobles, who had been kicked out quickly and violently by the King. But the Crown Prince had no ill will. He was perfectly happy in his own little world, aided by his empathy and a substance he had somehow been able to hide from the rest of the inhabitants, including the King. The only ones who knew about it were his closest friends.  
Of those friends, only one was on his mind right now. A lowblood, one the prince had met when he snuck out of the palace in his rebellious stage. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, and he was excited to do so again. Of course, while he was to address anyone of the kingdom who needed their royalty, he was not to leave the throne room. But at least once a week, his lowblood friend had made sure to come in at this time. While he was there, he would hide behind the prince's throne until the newest visitor had left. Then, they would continue their time together.  
But now that he had been missing for over three weeks, the prince was getting worried. To both hide and suppress his concern, the prince simply upped his daily fix. The palace's inhabitants had easily noticed his change, his amazing mood and steadily shortening temper making it hard to miss. The switch between happy and furious was steadily becoming less and less predictable. One particular guard had repeatedly shown concern in the disturbed prince, but every time he had tried to reach out to him, the royal beating him out of whatever room they were in, no matter if the spectacle was public or not.  
Now, the Crown Prince stared happily at the ceiling, his eyes trailing the swirling designs to their end. But for some reason, whenever he reached one, he felt his heart beat painfully and it struck his forced grin up a bit. Even when the large doors of the throne room creaked open, he did not look down until he reached one of those agonizing ends.  
"My Lord?"  
"..."  
"My Lord...?"  
"..."  
"... My-"  
"WHAT?! ... What is it, my motherfucking brother?"  
The blue blooded guard was frozen in recoil for a few moment, recovering from the prince's outburst, sweat already forming on his forehead and neck. Soon, however, he regained his bearings.  
"Ah- My Lord, yet another noble has come down with the plague, and we are running out of room to house whoever contracts it. If we do not take action to prevent... ah..."  
The prince had stood from his throne, stepping down the small flight of steps to the main floor.  
"Equius...tell me, how many are dead?"  
"... 103, My Lord. Including the peasantbloods."  
"How many are still sick?"  
"360."  
"Then why don't you tell them to get their motherfucking act together and get back to work?"  
Equius was shocked, sweat pouring down his back and arms.  
"Gamzee- ah, My Lord, they are deathly sick! It would take a miracle-"  
Gamzee spread his arms wide, making his cape billow behind him and silencing his blueblooded "friend" instantly.  
"Miracles are everywhere, my motherfucking brother." His maniacal grin splitting his face, natural, yet somehow forced as well.  
Equius stood, silent, unable to think of anything to respond with. In his long pause, Gamzee stood still as well, but only for a few moments. Then, he let both his arms and grin fall, suddenly angry.  
"Get out," he growled.  
"What?"  
"GET OUT!" Gamzee snatched the crown off his head, letting it go in front of him and kicking it furiously in midair. It spun wildly toward the blueblood, giving him just enough time to bring his arm up to shield his head. One of the three sharp points punctured his skin, tainting the gold with blue. He spent a second to recover before responding.  
"Y-Yes, My Lord," he said quickly and hurried through the doors again.  
Gamzee was left alone in the large room. He stood, staring darkly at the doors even after the echos of their closing finished reverberating off the walls. Finally, he looked at his crown and the blue blood sluggishly dripping off its jewels. Only when his mind was completely blank and the glare on his face had subsided did he turn slowly back to his throne, his feet dragging and his eyes avoiding the larger, foreboding seat.


	3. Wading the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our prince sets off to get his bearing on an unfamiliar shore.

The Pirate Prince wandered down the beach. He looked up to the high cliff blocking his way inland. It had stood there ever since his bearing had recovered and he had been able to stand up to take in his surroundings.  
When he had, he was careful to avoid his dried vomit as he stood. A long beach stretched as far as he could see on either side, the sea pinning him under the cliff. he had decided to go to his right on an impulse, still unable to think clearly a make a rational choice. As he walked, the cliff loomed ever closer with every step until it almost brushed his shoulder. Soon enough, he was thigh deep in water, as there was no foothold on the cliff for him to walk on, and rocks a few dozen meters offshore broke up the waves enough for him to walk freely. Suddenly, he took a step into a drop off, gravity dunking him under water.  
His skin now all to familiar to salt water, he swam as hard as he could against the weight his excess clothes and metal on his belt. He breached the water, clinging to the cliff to keep from going under again.  
As his blood was of a distinct purple, the gills on his neck allowed him to breath underwater, but this did not stop him from preferring dry air. But his love for both this and the sea tore him for many sweeps, until he turned to piracy. It was a good medium, sating both his unusual nature and his love of thrill and riches. And even though he was a pirate famed through both the seas and land, he had his own fears, one of which was his precious ship sinking.  
But now, of that he would not think. Instead, he concentrated on solving his dilemma. Should he part with what little coverings and possessions he had left, or leave them where he hovered to make the trek to land as quick and easy as possible? To make this decision, he would have to at least move to somewhere he could stand and move easily. When he found his footing again, he trudged back the way he came.  
It wasn't long before he was only knee-deep in the water, shallow enough for him to inspect his person and decide what to leave behind. His shoes went first. If he was to swim for a long while, they wouldn't be of much help. His large coat would be useless as well. He shed it along with two pistols on either side of his waist and all of his ammo and wet gunpowder. Really, the only things he kept were necessities, such as clothing, and things he couldn't leave alone for a singly moment, with the exception of the foreign ring he had found. For some reason, he found it strangely endearing, and he kept it if only for curiosity's sake. Plus, there was his money, the string keeping it closed and tied to his belt reinforced and tightened. Everything else, including, reluctantly, his adornment of jewelry, he wrapped in his coat and pinned down by a large rock in the sand by the sleeves. Later, he planned to return and retrieve everything when he had the equipment.  
But for now, he checked everything he had planned to keep and headed back for the drop off. Before diving in, however, he crouched to dip his face and gills into the water. It had been a long time since he had last breathed through his gills. That was the whole reason he had blacked out in the ocean. He had panicked and chocked on the seawater he should have been able to breathe through.  
He took a deep breath before submerging his head in the water, taking a few moments to recall just how to breathe underwater. He concentrated on the muscles around his gills, opening them fully before letting out all the air in his lungs. Then, he sucked in a mouthful of water, careful to keep his throat closed to it. In theory, the water should travel down two other tubes leading to his gills, located just where the feeling of his throat ended. But as soon as the salt entered those tubes, the saltwater stung the unused tissue, making him inhale violently, which not only made him choke, but sucked the saltwater even faster toward his gills, tearing them up raggedly. He bolted upright, coughing viciously, and hit his back on the cliff, knocking him down.  
He coughed like this for a good several minutes where he sat, his gills, throat, and lungs all sore. The fact that his legs and back were aching from the long trek to follow the cliff wasn't helping anything, either. When his fit has subsided, he took long breaths he looked out to the sea, where the sun was hovering only a few inches above it. He sighed, cursing his situation. He had no choice but to sleep the night through in the water. Refusing to lie down in fear of getting swept away again, he leaned back onto the cliff, trying as best as he could to get comfortable before letting his weariness wash over him. He grinned sorely at the analogy, his last thought being the hope that he didn't die from hypothermia overnight.

Slowly, he began to dream. It was dream filled with fire and water...and a long, comforting embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapetrs are short, but oh well. That's just how I roll!! :D  
> Btw, I'll just add tags as the story goes on. *shrugs* :/


	4. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Prince, floating on- or under -the waves, deep in a sleep that may just end him.

He sat in his throne, his sharp-toothed grin shining from the light of the lantern at his feet, the single, dim light casting shadows across his face and clothes. Piles of gold lay strewn about him, glimering just as brighly as the jewels that adorned him, as well as his ego. He dipped his hand into the nearest pile, letting the gold jewlery, coines, nuggets, and other such mindless pleasures fall thrlough his fingers as he lifted his arm again. It was light and barely touched his skin, almost floating around his hand, and yet, it made a series of satisfying clinks as the seperate peices joined the whole again.  
He ran his hands over and through the gold a jewel piles, watching as the radius of its floating increased until it looked as if instead of hovering to his gravity, it was being repelled by his mere presence. Something clicked in his mind and he tried grabbing some of the glittering gold. But he had been so wrapped up in watching it float away, he hadn't thought of the concequences of letting it go on. Now, no matter how quickly he moved his hand, he could not grab ahold of the gold. Whenever he tried, it simply flew out of reach again. Even now, he had not learned his lesson, ignoring the roars around him, outside of his little room.  
He only looked up when he saw that the surface of the gold and gems no longer glittered. It was dull and colorless. Wthout knowing quite why, he turned his head to a door in front of his throne. His eyes widened at the sight of a mass of what looked like insects, crawling through the cracks of the door and out of the room. The mass was white in some parts, black in others. He only saw a glimpse of its tail end dissapearing, but of this he was certain. Then, everything was grey. No light to show any color, yet no shadow to blur shapes. Everything around him, including his precious treasure, was a lightless, dull grey.  
His feet were wet. Shocked out of his trance, he looked down. Water leaked in from the floorboards, flooding the room. Suddenly, a dread fell over him, and his hoard of treasure didn't matter, for it no longer existed in the room. He sloshed through the water, which had already risen to his knees. He reached desperately for the door, but the more he moved, the thicker the water became. By the time it had risen to his hips, it felt like syrup, sucking him further under. He jumped for the doorknob. He couldn't go far, the thick water and the weariness it caused holding him down. But even so, he saw the handle and his hand reaching for it. Somehow, he knew he was going to reach it. The relief he anticipated flooded him, just as the room was being drowned. He would reach it, he would reach it, he would--!  
His head dunked underwater, now so thick, he couldn't move to surface. None of the cold metal of the door handle touched his hand.  
As he struggled to surface, albeit in vain, his breath left him, leaving only the dark water he was sinking into to fill his lungs. On impulse, he inhaled, flaring his gills. but instead of water, fire rushed down his throat. He coughed, but with every inhale, more flames burned him. He was still submerged, he knew that. So how could he be breathing in fire. As he struggled further, he saw a small white light below him. It grew smaller and smaller, as if he was floating away from it. But if he was sinking, how could that be? Suddenly, the light exploded in a mass of red, orange and yellow. But still, he floated away. Even now, the fire still burned him, but instead of only burning his throat, his entire body burned. No longer was he sinking into the depths of the room that should not exist, but floating further and further into an ocean of murky, blue-green lava, fire burning inside, below, and around him.  
He opened his eyes again. Salt shredded his throat and gills, tearing up his insides. In a panic of pain and fear, he struggled in the water, his sloshing creating a mass of bubbles. "Air, air!" he thought desperately. Even as he blacked in and out of consciousness, the bubbles he was creating sunk, dragging his further under. But as he descended with them, he felt the pressure and what little light around him lighten. His world swirled as his sense of direction and balance righted itself, disorienting him further. No longer where the bubbles sinking, but rising, pushing him to the surface.  
His head broke the surface. He tried to gasp a chestful of air, but water blocked its way. He coughed and his stomach heaved, pushing water up through his throat again. It felt no better than what it had done to him the first time around. Water spurt from his mouth, as if he was vomiting it up. He finally felt air in his tortured lungs, but that didn't stop his body from rejecting anything it could, nor did it give him any relief, as it burned just as badly as the salt, if not worse. As he jolted and sputtered, struggling to keep his head above the water as his body convulsed, he hit his head on a hard rock. Relieved to at least have something to cling to, he reached out, wrapping his arms around the rock spire, even after he had stopped twitching violently when he was able to breathe regularly, if painfully so. He shivered, hugging the rock as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, as it might just have been.  
Still quivering, he looked around. The rock he was clinging to wasn't part of the cliff. It was one of the rocks that had been breaking up the waves before it hit the rock face. He looked to his other side and, as if in time with his thoughts, a wave broke on the spires further out, spraying his face. He took a deep, painful breath before prying his cold, clamped fingers off the sharp edges of the rock, his arms automatically retracting toward his chest. He balanced in the water, flinching whenever his chin touched the rolling waves as he let the tides carry him toward the cliff. When he reached it, he flung his arms out, a flashback of his now blurry dream sending fear through his shoulders and down his spine, yet he refused to let his face show any expression, even in his solitude.  
He tried to get his footing on the bank he had traveled on for so long, but he was too far from it. He looked back the way he came from, unable to see anything familiar, such as the beach or part of the coat he had left behind. He stared in that direction for a long while, unable to force himself to move. Finally, he looked the other way, ahead of him. He paused. "Fuck it," he thought, both his body and his pride as a seadweller too wounded to even try swimming. He reached out, clinging to the cliff side as crawled ahead, one foot at a time.


End file.
